


Long Arm of the Law

by thegirlnamedcove



Series: Long Row To Hoe [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Everything Hurts, Family Drama, Gen, Pre Sterek, Prostitution, Slut Shaming, Stiles is a prostitute, but they care about one another a lot in this one, it happens next installment, read the first two installments, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 03:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14346624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: It took no time for the Sheriff to find out. But even when he found out, he couldn't understand.





	Long Arm of the Law

**Author's Note:**

> So, the first two in this series were able to stand alone as stories, but this one really kind of needs context. Like, you can read it for the sweet, delicious angst, but you aren't really going to get what is going on and who knows and why if you don't read the first two. Plus there's at least two more parts coming, so...subscribe to something, probably. Read the others. I don't know. I don't tell you how to do your job.

It took no time at all for the Sheriff to find out.

Turns out Scott called him the same night, and by the time Stiles and Derek had driven back from the city he was pacing the front porch, livid. Stiles quailed in his seat, shrinking down as low as he could go despite the steady glare his father was levelling at the car.

“So.”

“So,” he said. Stiles’ voice was faint in the closed off car, but Derek could hear the click of his throat as he swallowed all the same.

He didn’t end up finishing the thought, just got out and strode toward the porch, his shoulder and arms a bundle of jittering nerves like it might actually kill him to stay still.

“Hey there, dad. Daddio. What’s got you up so late? And waiting for me? Kinda creepy, you know--”

“ _ Stiles _ ,” he said, and oh fuck. Derek recognized that tone from his own few arrests, exonerated though he may be. “Mind telling me where you were tonight.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I was, uh…” Stiles rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, the fingers digging in, “out dancing.”

“Dancing.”

He ducked down, and Derek could smell the anxiety from where he still sat in the driver’s seat, seeping in through the vents in his dashboard. He opened the door on instinct, and pushed himself up and out onto the sidewalk, even as he scolded himself for possibly making an awkward situation that much worse.

The Sheriff shifted his gaze over his son’s shoulder and locked onto Derek. Where Derek hoped he would loosen, maybe, at the approach of a familiar face and the outside chance that Stiles was telling the truth, he tightened up instead, and his face shifted slowly but surely toward disgust.

“And how much did Derek here pay you to go  _ dancing _ , Stiles?”

“I...what?” Stiles asked. By the time Derek reached the two of them his eyes were like moons. “He didn’t. We aren’t…”

“Are you sure? Because I just got a phone call that told me what you  _ are _ doing, and who with, and I don’t think you’re in any position to get offended at the implication anymore.”

“Sir, it really isn’t like that.”

The Sheriff glared at him, but Derek pushed forward, trying to summon the false strength he usually pulled around himself like a blanket when hunters came calling. Trying to forget the beach trip just the month before when this same man had called him ‘son’.

“His profession isn’t a part of our friendship.”

“Derek!” Stiles hissed, and swatted at his thigh, but Derek shrugged.

“He knows, Stiles. Lying won’t help now.”

He sighed, wet and rough, and turned his face away to study one of the shrubs that flanked the porch steps. Eventually, he nodded.

“Just tell me, kid. What got you into all this? What is going on? You know I’d burn down heaven and hell for you, but you’ve gotta tell me what kind of trouble you’re in before I can do it.”

“I’m not in trouble, dad,” he choked out, still directed at the shrub, “I just...it was just...easier.”

“Easier than what? Than another job? Than saying no? Than--” he cut himself off, jerked his gaze up. A look of sharp recognition registered in his eyes before he turned back to Stiles, “Is this because of Emilio? From the station, maybe junior year? Did he introduce you to his--”

“God! Dad, no...fuck…” Stiles’ voice was getting more and more watery with each new word, and Derek had to resist the impulse to wrap an arm around his shoulders to help hold him up, “Emilio’s pimp is in jail. You  _ know _ that, you put him there.”

“I did, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get out. Doesn’t mean he didn’t target you in the squadroom, and sink his claws into you.”

Stiles stepped back, a little, out of his dad’s reach. They hadn’t touched, not yet, and it struck Derek how very odd that was. He’d seen them argue before, sure, everyone had. They’d fight and scream and swear, if the situation called for it, but it was always framed with a set of arms, someone’s hands on someone’s shoulders, boxing them in. Or a hand splayed on a chest. Or a gentle but pointed kick at a shin to get attention. Instead, they stood still and separate now.

“I am going to tell you this because I trust you, and because I hope you can trust me. Maybe not to tell the truth, although Christ, can you blame me? But trust me to take care of myself and know when I need to ask for help.”

“I did trust you to do that,” the Sheriff said, and the word ‘did’ fell like a hammer.

“Emilio’s pimp is in jail, and Emilio is still working now. Went into business for himself, he makes more money and can be more picky with his clients. And yeah, I ran into him one night when I was actually out dancing and he seemed...healthy. Happy. Mellowed out. The job wasn’t the problem, dad, I’ve known that for years, but I was reminded that night.”

“Years?” Derek asked, and then quailed when both Stilinskis broke their locked gazes to acknowledge him. The Sheriff looked a little sick.

“How long have you been doing this, kid?” he glanced back, “High school? You tell me what it is, whatever it is, and you know I’ll destroy any record of it that exists. You know I’ll get you out of this.”

“I don’t want out of it, dad. I only started last year, but I’ve known...sex workers for a long time. I don’t know what you thought an unsupervised ten year old was meant to do in a police bullpen, but mostly I talked to people. Some of them were shitty, and some of them just had shitty things happen to them.”

“Jesus Christ,” the Sheriff breathed. Stiles just shook his head, his shoulders already bowed in.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but...I saw a different perspective than most kids. Probably, I don’t know. Then last year I decided to go into business, doing this, and I found out liked it. I liked it a lot. I know you don’t want to hear it dad, but I’m  _ good _ at it.”

The Sheriff pitched forward, then, looking for all the world like he would actually throw up. His braced himself against his knees and started breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth as he’d no doubt been trained to do in a crisis.

“ _ Good at it?! _ ” he asked, his voice high and thready.

The smell of salt and tears filled the air, and Stiles sniffed loudly.

“Yeah. I’m good at it. I’m good at a lot of things most people aren’t proud of. Getting into databases, interrogating people, investigating things I should stay out of. And fucking. I make a really decent wage when I’m fucking.”

He turned away, toward the Camaro, and dropped his head down like he hoped to turn invisible and sink into the earth all at once. Derek reached for him, hoping maybe to grab skin or a sleeve or something, and instead just found air as he moved back toward the passenger seat of the car. When he reached it, and wrenched open the door, he stopped. His spine was held straight in a way that looked artificial, and he was staring out into the nothingness of the woods that bordered their property on the western edge.

“I know I’m not what you wanted in a son. But this is who I am. This is what I am. Even if I quit and you burn everything and I attend some program, this is me. You’re so horrified by the job, but the fact is that the real issue is me. I’m immoral, or slutty, or loose, or whatever the fuck else you want to say about it. Sooner or later that’s going to sink in for you, so let’s save time and just cut things off now.”

He was crying openly now, tears making tracks down his face, long lines of wet that reflected the light. The Sheriff didn’t seem to know what to say, still braced against his knees but with his face turned up to look at Stiles in profile. Derek felt paralyzed. For all his training, for all the careful sessions Sister Peg had walked him through, for all that he could be useful and pass out condoms and mace and ensure a modicum of safety, he’d never had to deal with this. He’d never had to deal with the family of a hooker.

Stiles turned just enough to catch his eye but not the Sheriff’s and jerked his head towards the car. Derek obeyed, robotically, his arms and legs moving without his permission. He got into the driver’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition. He tugged the shift into reverse. He stared straight ahead, unseeing. When Stiles said so, he started to drive, and left the man that was so good, and so awful, and so much of so many things still dry-heaving in the driveway of Stiles’ family home.

He didn’t know how to feel. He couldn’t imagine Stiles did either.

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed, as usual, so if you find a mistake please tell me about it in the meanest way you possibly can.


End file.
